


sunshine

by rosegardeninwinter



Series: sketched lightly: assorted Hunger Games short stories [3]
Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Gen, Post-Mockingjay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-07
Updated: 2018-12-07
Packaged: 2019-09-13 11:49:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16892046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosegardeninwinter/pseuds/rosegardeninwinter
Summary: "I used to be so scared when they got like that; now it just makes me sad"[after more than twenty years, some days are still tough]





	sunshine

“They’re not up,” Ash murmurs as he comes back to the kitchen. “I think today might be a bad day.”  


His sister nods solemnly and sweeps her hands over the counter as she thinks. They didn't have to grow up quite as fast as Mama and Papa but they grew up faster than most.  


“Makes sense,” she says. “They were like this with me too.”  


“Maybe we could make them breakfast.”  


Willow brightens. “We should.”  


“Something sweet!”  


“It’s not for you, goose,” she chides, but she’s already getting the sugar down.  


“Banana bread,” he suggests, “with cinnamon!”  


“And warm honey milk,” his sister decides. “Pass me the flour?”  


An hour later, Willow, plates in hand, nudges the door to her parents' room open very softly, Ash behind her with two steaming mugs of milk. Mama is curled under the blankets. Papa is sitting up with his back against the headboard, staring blankly out the window.  


“Hey,” Willow whispers, very gently, “good morning, sleepyheads.” (It’s already one in the afternoon, but that’s not worth mentioning.)  


Papa glances over at them for a second. He takes a shaky breath but he doesn’t say anything.  


Willow sets the warm milk and bread on the bedside table and rubs her father’s shoulder as Ash does the same on the other side of the bed, tugging back the covers a bit to stroke Mama’s hair. “We made breakfast,” he tells her, “and it’s right here when you’re ready for it.”  


“I should …” Papa mumbles vacantly. “I need … to get up.”  


“I don’t think so,” Willow says, folding his fingers around his mug. “Just have some milk, okay? And makes sure Mama eats. We’ll be right outside if you need us.”  


Papa takes another breath and then a sip of the milk. “Alright,” he manages.  


“I used to be so scared when they got like that,” Willow confesses to her brother as they wash their own plates. “Now it just makes me sad.”  


“They weren’t like that last year,” Ash says.  


“I know. But Ash, this year, you’d be eligible too.”  


“Oh.”  


The sun burns brightly in the sky but it’s hard not to feel a twinge of cold going up their spines. The house is eerie quiet and they try to keep talking because if they don’t they start to imagine they can hear the ghostly sounds of thousands of footsteps, marching silently to the old town square — for the Reaping.


End file.
